


How to Survive in the Wilderness

by Gampyre



Series: Fictober 2020 [6]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, First Kiss, Flufftober, Gay Panic Hiking, Getting Together, Hiking, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Snogging, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, There was only one sleeping bag, no beta we die like the mage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26907562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gampyre/pseuds/Gampyre
Summary: Days 7 and 8—Hiking adventures, full moonHiking rule number one: Don't wander off alone.Hiking rule number two: Try not to (gay) panic.Or: A trail, a thunderstorm, and a sprained ankle play matchmaker to two idiots secretly in love
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Fictober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949773
Comments: 22
Kudos: 148





	How to Survive in the Wilderness

**Author's Note:**

> Flufftober prompts  
> [here](https://subpar-selkie.tumblr.com/post/628080856195547136/flufftober-prompts)

“Well, fuck,” I say. 

“Amen to that,” agrees Snow.

We look at each other. He’s looking up at me sheepishly, and I’m giving him my most murderous glare. The tree we’re under is no longer providing much cover, not with how intense the storm has grown, and the rain is starting to soak through my windbreaker. On top of that, it’s beginning to get dark. And Snow can’t walk.

It’s his fault we’re stuck here. We were supposed to stick together as a group—all ten of us from the local Adventure Club, that is. But Snow got distracted and wandered off the trail, and I got sent to find him. I _did_ find him eventually, sitting on a rock, sporting a twisted ankle. I was in the process of helping him hobble back up the trail to meet the group when the rain hit. We ducked under a tree to wait it out, but rather than subsiding, the storm only got worse.

I check my phone. Of course there’s no service. Not out here in the wilderness. Not when you really need it. Sure, I get high-speed data when I want to read idiotic celebrity tweets on the way to work, but when I’m lost in the mountains with my former roommate? Not one measly fucking bar. Fuck me.

“Do you think you could walk back to the trailhead if I help you?” I say to Snow. “The storm is only getting worse, and the sun is setting. I don’t want to wait around here much longer.”

Snow grimaces. “I mean, probably? But I could slip on the mud and hurt my ankle even more. And there’s that section about a half mile out where we climbed up those boulders, remember?”

“Fuck,” I say again. It’s the word of the day. Brought to you by the letters F, U, C, and fucking K. “As much as it pains me to say it, you’re right. There’s no way you’d make it safely back down the boulders. Not with your bad ankle, and certainly not in the rain. They’ll be slippery as hell.”

“Slippery as butter,” Snow pipes up. I raise an eyebrow. “Anyway, I don’t think we’d make it to the boulders before dark.”

“Right again, Snow.” I sigh. “So what do you propose we do?”

Snow shrugs. “Camp out?”

“Are you mad? You want to camp out in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm? On a fucking mountain?”

“I don’t _want_ to, but it’s not like we have a lot of options, is it? It’s better than just sitting here and freezing.”

I look around us, taking stock of the situation. We’re certainly not prepared for camping. This was supposed to be a simple, two-hour leisure hike. It was supposed to be fun. But I don’t have any food, I’m running low on water, and my (soaked) windbreaker is the only extra clothing I brought with me. And I’m quickly getting very, very cold. I try to suppress my shivering.

“Er,” Snow says, “I just remembered, when I was exploring that side trail—”

“You mean when you got lost?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. I—Anyway, I saw a sign for a ranger’s cabin, pointing back up the trail. We could see if we could find it, yeah?”

“You know,” I say. “I do believe that’s the only good idea you’ve had today. Congratulations.”

He growls. “Fuck off, Baz. You don’t have to be such a prick.”

I sneer at him. “You’re right, I don’t. But you didn’t have to wander off alone in the fucking woods in the first place. That’s rule number one of hiking, Snow. Don’t wander off alone.”

“I _know_ that, but there was this really cool insect—”

“Right, of course. Never mind. Forget the fact that we’re going to die of hypothermia, at least you got to see an _insect_. Fabulous way to spend the last moments of your life. I hope it was worth it.”

“Oh, sod off. And stop being dramatic. No one’s going to _die_. Are you gonna help me look for the ranger’s cabin or not?” he says.

“Fine.” I hold out one arm, and Snow steps closer, draping his arm over my shoulders. I wrap my arm around his waist to hold him up. Under other circumstances, I’d probably be panicking at the proximity to the man I’m secretly in love with, but right now I’m just impatiently freezing my arse off.

“Ready?” I ask.

“Let’s go,” Snow says. “That way.” He points, and we set off toward what is hopefully a safe, dry place to wait out the storm.

It takes us nearly an hour to find it, what with Simon’s limping and the near-complete lack of visibility, but it turns out the cabin _does_ exist after all. The door is locked, but one of the windows opens enough for me to climb through and unlock the door from the inside to let Snow in. The cabin is small, and sparsely furnished. There’s a narrow bed in one corner of the room, and in the opposite corner, there's a table and two chairs. It’s nothing to sneeze at, but at least we’re out of the rain, and there is a fireplace and a small stack of wood beside it. I get to work building a fire.

Snow starts stripping the moment we shut the door behind us, leaning on the table to keep the weight off his bad ankle.

“What are you doing?” 

“Um, taking my clothes off?” He says.

“Why?”

Snow shrugs. “So they can dry.” He proceeds to strip down to just his pants, and drapes the rest of his clothing over the chairs. He’s so fucking casual about it. He has no idea what he’s doing to me. “You should take yours off, too,” he tells me, like it's a perfectly normal thing to say.

I feel myself blush. I’ve never seen so much of Snow’s bare skin at once. Not even when we were roommates. He’s got moles and freckles _everywhere_. I turn away and poke the fire, which has started to catch and spread from the smaller twigs to the larger logs.

“Um, no,” I stammer. “I don’t think so. I’ll keep my clothes on, thank you very much.”

Simon scoffs. “That’s like, rule number one of not getting hypothermia, Baz. Take off your wet clothes.”

I shake my head. Spending the night in a small cabin with a mostly naked Simon Snow is bad enough. Spending the night in a small cabin with a mostly naked Simon Snow while being mostly naked myself? Absolutely out of the question.

“Come on,” Snow growls. “Just—You need to let your clothes dry. I don’t want you to get sick because of me.” He limps over and kneels next to me in front of the fire, then reaches for the zipper on my windbreaker. “May I?”

I nod and let him unzip my windbreaker, but when he starts to push it off my shoulders, I bat his hands away. I don’t have the presence of mind to endure a shirtless, wet-haired, freckled Simon Snow literally _undressing me._

“I’ll do the rest myself,” I say, tugging my arms out of the sleeves.

“Fine,” he responds. “I’ll sort out dinner.”

I yank my soaked shirt over my head. “We don’t have any food.”

“Yes we do,” Snow says. “I brought some for emergencies. Didn’t you?”

I turn and raise an eyebrow at him, my fingers fumbling for the button of my trousers. My hands are still shaking from the cold. “Why would I? This was supposed to be a leisure hike. More of a nature walk, really.”

He shakes his head at me and laughs. “Honestly, Baz. For someone who’s part of the Adventure Club, you don’t seem to know the first thing about survival. Or preparing for emergencies.”

“Well thank god I’ve got you. Lucky me. However else could I have gotten stuck in a rainstorm? Who else would have helped me unzip my windbreaker? Where would I even be without you? Oh, that’s right. I would be home by now, curled up on the couch, having a glass of wine. I wouldn’t be _having_ a fucking emergency!”

Snow sniffs. “You should be nicer to me. I’m the only one with food.”

“I’d rather starve.”

“Suit yourself.”

I drop my trousers and drape them over the table, next to my soaked shirt, windbreaker, and socks. I set my shoes by the fire, next to Snow’s.

Snow pulls an assortment of energy bars and crisps out of his bag. I sit cross-legged in front of the fire and watch him as he divides it all into two small piles, then pushes one of them toward me. 

“In case you change your mind,” he says. Then he takes his pile of snacks and hobbles over to the mattress. He makes himself comfortable on it before tearing open one of the bars and taking a big bite.

I pop open a bag of crisps—not salt and vinegar, sadly, but they’ll do—and shift a bit away from the fire, as it’s grown hot enough that it feels a bit uncomfortable on my back. 

“Snow, you don’t happen to have brought bedding with all your emergency stuff, have you?”

“Er, sort of? I’ve not got proper bedding, but I’ve got a sleeping bag.”

“Just one?” I ask.

“Um, yeah. Just the one.” Oh. “But we could probably share. If you want. It’s big enough, I think.”

This cannot be happening. There’s no fucking way I can snuggle up next to Snow in a single sleeping bag all night, not without it being painfully obvious how attracted I am to him. Even from across the room, the sight of his arms flexing as he rips open a second energy bar is _doing things_ to me. Combined with his bare, freckled, toned thighs on display and the way he turns swallowing into a whole production… it’s obscene, really.

I clear my throat and look down at my crisps instead. “No, I’m alright, thanks. That won’t be necessary.”

“Well we can share the mattress still at least. You shouldn’t sleep on the floor.”

I consider refusing that too, but I’m not _quite_ that masochistic. “Fine.”

After we’ve eaten, I throw another two logs onto the fire and lie down on the mattress next to Snow, who’s already laid out his sleeping bag and crawled inside.

“You should elevate your foot,” I say. “To keep the swelling down.”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “D’you mind grabbing my bag? I can put that under my feet.”

I take pity on him and his injured foot and retrieve his bag from the other side of the room. He winces a bit when I feel for his foot through the fabric of the sleeping bag in order to lift it up. 

“Sounds like it hurts,” I tell him.

He shrugs. “S’not too bad, honest.”

I give him a skeptical look. “Will you let me look at it anyway? I’ve twisted my fair share of ankles on the football pitch. I can make sure it’s just a sprain and not something more serious.”

He shrugs again, but unzips the sleeping bag and crawls back out of it. “Sure, why not?”

One of his ankles is significantly fatter than the other. I get on the bed, kneeling beside his feet, and gingerly lift his injured ankle up to rest it on my thigh. “Tell me when it hurts.” I gently prod around his ankle joint.

He hisses. “There. That one hurt,” he says when my fingers are pressed to a point on the outside of his ankle.

“Okay, I’m going to keep going. Tell me if it hurts again.” I gently push against other points around the joint, but the only place he says is particularly painful is the soft part of the outer edge where his ankle meets his foot. “Do you have any numbness or tingling?” I ask, because that’s what the physicians always asked me whenever I went in for an ankle injury.

“No.”

“It’s probably not broken then, but you should still get it checked out when we get back. Do you happen to have a first aid kit? With a bandage?”

Snow nods. “Yeah, it’s just in the outer pocket there.”

I retrieve the first aid kit and take out the bandage. “I’m going to wrap up your ankle to keep the swelling down, alright?” I say. “We’ll need you to be able to walk tomorrow morning. At least enough to get to a place where we have phone service.”

“Alright.”

He watches me in silence as I wrap the bandage carefully around his ankle. I make sure that it’s snug, but not too tight—I don’t want to cut off his circulation. I take my time with it. It feels oddly intimate to be touching him like this. He’s trusted me to take care of his busted ankle, and by god, I’m going to take care of him. I can’t tell him how I feel about him, but at least I can give him this.

“You can put your leg back in the sleeping bag now,” I tell him. He does, and I arrange his hiking bag under his feet to elevate them before lying down beside him. 

“Hey Baz?” he whispers.

“What, Snow?”

“Thank you.”

I lay awake after that, listening to the crash of thunder and the pounding of the rain on the roof. There’s a leak in one corner of the room, and the _pit pit pit_ of rogue raindrops smacking the floor keeps pace with my racing heart. I turn onto my side and watch Snow’s silhouetted profile as he breathes evenly, his chest rising and falling with each inhale and exhale. His mouth is parted slightly. (Mouth breather.)

A flash of lightning illuminates his features for a transitory moment.

He’s not asleep either.

He’s staring out the window, watching the storm.

The brief light fades, and I’m left in darkness again. Left with only the memory of Snow’s profile. I add this new image to the others I’ve filed away, saved for the hardest days. Visions of bronze hair and blue eyes. An indomitable spirit. Courage and kindness and fierce determination. Everything that is Simon Snow.

A second flash of lightning, and he’s looking back at me. And then that moment is gone, too. As always. I only ever get flashes of hope, only ever mere glimpses of the light Snow brings wherever he goes. And then I’m alone in the dark. 

The physical distance separating us now would be so easy to cross, but the real barriers between us are insurmountable.

I shiver. And then I’m shaking, and I can’t stop. The cold, the stress, the proximity to Snow… my body has had quite enough, and it’s decided to let me know. Violently so. I curl in on myself, tucking my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around my torso to hold them still, to try and keep the bed from shaking.

“Baz,” Simon whispers. “Baz, you’re shivering.”

“Astute observation, Snow,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Jesus, Baz. There’s plenty of room in the sleeping bag. Or, you know what, just take it. You can have it. I run warm, I’ll be fine without.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” He’s already unzipping the sleeping bag.

“No, Snow. I won’t take it from you.”

He huffs in frustration, then wiggles closer. “Fine, then we’re sharing. And I won’t hear any more arguments from you.”

“Okay, okay,” I mumble. I’m too cold to protest more. My body has betrayed me, and I can’t be held responsible for anything that happens after this. Snow unzips the sleeping bag down to his knees, and I slide my feet into the end of it. He yelps. 

“Bloody hell, Baz!”

“Oh shit, did I hit your ankle?”

“No, it’s just, your feet feel like fucking ice cubes.”

I stifle a laugh. “That’s good then. We got your ankle rested, compressed, and elevated. The only thing we didn’t have was ice.”

He giggles. “In that case, your feet will do brilliantly.”

It takes some maneuvering, but we manage to get me in the sleeping bag, my body pressed chest to toe against Snow. He reaches around me to zip it up, and then leaves his arms there, tightening them slightly around me and pulling me closer to him. I’m still shaking like a leaf, and I think I might combust.

I tentatively rest one of my arms on Simon’s side, and I tuck the other arm in between our chests.

“Go ahead, Baz. You can touch me. Your hands are freezing, too. My skin will warm them up.”

Well. If he’s asking me to touch him, I’m not going to say no, am I? I shift so that I can press my entire forearm and palm against the smooth expanse of his back. I splay my fingers out, feeling the heat of him under my hand, closing my eyes and recalling the pattern of the moles and freckles splattered across his skin.

Snow exhales slightly, and I feel his warm breath on my collarbone. He tightens his arms around me again and slides one leg between mine. There’s not an inch of space between us now. 

“You’re shivering less now,” Snow says. “See? I told you.”

“Hmmm.”

I feel a warmth inside me, in addition to the warmth of Simon’s body pressed against me. I feel content. This feels _right_. Snow is tracing little circles on my back with his fingers, and he’s tucked his face into my neck, and I can feel his heart beating against my chest, and… We’re out in the middle of fucking nowhere, camped out in a cabin that doesn’t even have proper bedding, having eaten crisps for dinner, and yet, lying here with Snow—lying here in Simon’s arms—feels more like home than anywhere else I’ve ever been.

“Hey, Baz?”

“What, Snow?”

“I, uh. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.” He stops and takes a deep breath, then lets it all out at once. “For being a shitty roommate to you back at uni. I, um, I’ve been trying to figure out how to say that for a while. So, yeah. I don’t hate you. I know I always acted like I did, but I don’t.”

I suppose that’s progress. It’s a big step for us, anyway. I clear my throat. “Thank you.” I figure I have some things to apologize for as well, though the words ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ are not ones that fall easily from my lips. “You deserved better than the way I treated you,” I say instead. “I was jealous, and I believed you truly did hate me, and I responded the only way I knew how.”

He leans back just enough to look at me. (He can’t go far—the sleeping bag may be larger than usual, but we’re still two fully-grown men squeezed into a space meant for one.) “What do you mean, you were jealous?”

“Of you and Agatha,” I say. 

“Oh, well that explains—Wait.” He frowns. “But you don’t—” Then it clicks, and his sharp intake of breath tells me exactly when he figures it out. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah,” I say. “ _Oh_.”

I’m pressed so closely to him that I feel his body tense and his heart rate pick up. I wonder if he can feel my stomach flip.

“Um, how long?” he asks. “How long have you, uh, felt… like that?”

“Almost since we met.”

“Oh,” he says again. “I didn’t know.”

“I know. I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not? What did you think I’d’ve done if I’d known?” When I don’t answer, he fills in the blank himself. “Never mind, I get it. I wouldn’t’ve told me, either. I was such a dick back then.”

I laugh, and it comes out wrong. High-pitched and nervous. “So was I.”

“I’m glad I know now, though,” he says. 

“Are you?”

“Yeah, I am. Because, well… maybe it was one-sided back then. But things’ve changed, haven’t they?”

My heart skips a beat. “What are you saying?”

“God, Baz, are you gonna make me say it?”

“Please do.”

“Okay, I like you. A lot, actually. That’s what I’m saying.”

I must be dreaming. Or else I’m living a charmed fucking life. “If you’re having me on…”

“I’m not, I swear!” He sounds aghast. “I wouldn’t do that. I mean it. Really.”

“Then fucking kiss me, you idiot.”

He does.

He’s tentative at first, and I’m still too shell-shocked to properly respond. It’s the world’s most chaste, boring kiss, but it sends heat coursing through my body. He pulls back.

“You’re not shaking anymore,” he whispers.

“I wasn’t done,” I complain. “I want more than one kiss. At least give me two. Kiss me again.” 

“You can have as many kisses as you want.” And he takes me by the back of the neck.

The second time, it’s still slow, still hesitant, but at least I kiss him back properly. Push and pull, give and take. His lips part, and I taste him.

The third time, he properly snogs me into the mattress. Unzips the sleeping bag and just fucking attacks me with his mouth. And I give as good as I get. 

The fourth time, I kiss him everywhere but his mouth. I kiss every single mole that’s not covered up. And then I uncover the rest and kiss those too.

I lose track after that. Our kisses blend together with no beginning or end. The passing time is marked not by minutes and seconds, but by soft sighs and rolling thunder.

At some point, the storm clears. I couldn’t say when, exactly. I only notice when I finally part from Simon long enough to look at him, and I can actually _see_ his face, thanks to the light streaming through the window. It must be a full moon tonight.

Simon smiles at me, and the mole on his cheek disappears into a dimple. I want to kiss it. So I do. 

“So do you forgive me? For getting lost?” he says. Cheeky bastard. (I love him.)

“Hmmm, not yet. I could be persuaded, though.”

“Oh yeah? How so?”

I give him my most wicked grin. “Why don’t you just keep trying new things, and I’ll tell you what I like? That’s been working well so far.”

“Hmm. I’ve got a whole list of things I want to do to you, Baz. The question is, where do I start?”

“Start at the top.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on Tumblr!  
> [Gampyre on Tumblr](https://gampyre.tumblr.com/)


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